Faire Play
by WildwingSuz
Summary: Undercover at a Renaissance Faire, Mulder and Scully discover more than they bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** In the autumn of 2008, Alia and I met for the first time at the Ohio Renaissance Festival in Harveysburg, OH. While walking around with my husband Joe and several of Alia's friends (Hi Susie!) we got to discussing a story about our favorite fictional agents working undercover at a Faire. We were going to work on it together but as time went by, other projects took up our time.

Then I was reminded just recently by the lady herself that I owe Alia a story and about our conversation at that RenFaire; for me to write what we'd discussed that day was my assignment. So here it is!

I wrote a good half or more of this during a three-hour, caffeine-fueled stint at my favorite Starbucks in Madison Heights, MI. Nothing like a couple of venti cinnamon dolce lattes to get my ass in gear, lemme tell you!

**Spoilers:** En Ami. Takes place shortly after En Ami, before Chimera; A/U after story begins.

Thanks so much to Cory for putting petal to the metal on this one—  
and Alia for all the RenFaire help as well as proofreading.

This is the R-rated version of an NC-17 story. The original can be found at my website.

**Faire Play  
**By Suzanne L. Feld  
Rated R for language and adult sexual situations

_August 2000_  
"Damn, Mulder, you look good in tights!" Scully exclaimed, more out of surprise than because she'd meant to. Her partner, who had just left the curtain-draped men's changing tent, was outfitted in a black and silver Italian doublet with a colorful, harlequin-style, balloon-sleeved blouse beneath, snug black hose, and high, wide-cuffed boots—the very epitome of the rakish, charming rogue he was portraying. In one hand was a wide-brimmed black hat with a fan of peacock feathers sweeping from the silver filigree hatband.

"I feel like an utter idiot," he said, frowning darkly as he picked at the seat of the tights with the hand that wasn't holding his hat, twisting around to try and see the back of himself. "And these damn things are _not_ as comfortable as they look!"

She snorted laughter, then reached out and smoothed back the heavy black leather of the doublet's lapels over his chest so they lay flat. "You did leave your underwear on, right?"

"I wear boxers, Scully, you know that. They'd have ruined the lines of the tights."

"Obviously it didn't occur to you to get a pair of briefs to wear, so quit complaining if they ride up your butt," she grinned, walking around him to get the full effect. Never would she tell him, but her heart beat just a little faster at the sight of his muscular thighs in those tights; she would be watching throughout the day for him to bend over, causing the doublet's tails—which barely covered him when standing—to ride up and reveal that glorious rear end.

But for now she was still fighting laughter over the catastrophe that had resulted when they'd made the major mistake of giving Mulder a sword to wear with his costume. She'd been in the ladies' changing tent with the seamstress only a short time before when she'd heard a commotion nearby, Mulder's voice swearing, a series of loud crashes, and someone else yelling to hold still. The seamstress had gone to find out what the ruckus was, since Scully was still half-dressed, and came back howling with laughter. She'd reported how Mulder had tripped himself and everyone else in the tent with the scabbard attached to his belt, knocked over clothing displays and mirrors, and nearly took the whole tent down before they removed the sword and replaced it with a long knife. She'd explained that it was difficult to handle wearing a sword at first, and all the regular staff at the festival knew it—but they'd never seen anyone quite as bad with it as her partner.

When she came back around to the front of him, still trying not to laugh, he looked her up and down, demanding, "And where is _your_ costume, Miss It's-So-Damn-Funny?"

"The dress needed alterations. Madam whats-her-name, Adia or Alia or whatever, is taking in the seams of the bodice—it was too large. Whoever wore it before me was quite the busty gal," Scully sighed. "Although the length fit, at least."

"She musta been pretty damn top-heavy," Mulder cracked, fanning himself with the hat. "Damn, this outfit is going to be really uncomfortable by noon. It's barely nine-thirty and I'm already sweating in it."

"Mine's not going to be much cooler," Scully sighed, glancing over at the seamstress' tent. "They didn't have anything light and gauzy I liked."

"What, no tavern wench with a low-cut bodice and skirts up around her knees, flashin' her pantaloons at the customers?" he grinned, still fanning himself with the hat, peacock feathers flopping back and forth.

She raised a brow up at him but didn't deign to answer, thinking that he'd get his comeuppance for that remark when he _did_ see the outfit she'd chosen. With perfect timing the seamstress poked her head out of her tent, calling, "Miss Scully?"

"Back in a bit, Mulder," she said flippantly, but as she went to the tent she wasn't looking forward to donning her Renaissance finery either. With any luck they might find their suspect today, but on the other hand it could be days before he made a move and they were able to identify him. In the meantime they were staking out the West Virginia Renaissance Festival for a serial rapist; with the full cooperation of the Faire organizers they were able to go undercover as costumed employees, which let them blend in and allowed access to all areas of the festival. Only three people on the grounds knew who they were: the seamstress and the tailor who were lending them the costumes, and the ticket-taker who was one of the co-organizers they'd met with when they'd arrived the night before.

This bastard that they were after had already struck at four other RenFaires and was steadily moving north as they opened across the country. The festivals normally ran in the fall, but the ones in the South started earlier in the year than the ones in the North. If they had him figured right, he should strike sometime this opening weekend, and with any luck they'd catch him before he got another victim.

As the seamstress helped her into the hip-length shift, long chemise, dress, bodice, and girdle (which was really a wide belt slung low around her hips), Scully mused on the bad timing of this assignment. She and Mulder were still recovering from the debacle of her trip with Cancer Man, which had badly shaken his trust in her—and she didn't blame him. Before that she'd thought that they might be moving towards something a little more than friendship, but now they were right back where they'd been some months ago. She'd hoped this assignment would help get them back on an even keel, but with Mulder looking like a dangerously sexy aristocrat, she wasn't sure how to treat him—and when he saw her in this costume, she wasn't sure how _he'd_ treat _her_. That was part of the reason she hadn't chosen one of the cooler tavern wench or country maid outfits; they were too low-cut with enough cleavage to drive her—not to mention him—insane, even when laced as high as they would go. And wasn't _that_ just what they needed?

***

While waiting for Scully, Mulder plunked his hat on his head and went over to the only food vendor open this early—the RenFaire started at ten—and got them each a frozen lemonade before wandering back towards the dressing tents. This early he'd have preferred coffee, which the seller also had, but it was just too damn hot already for that. This year autumn was warm and humid rather than cool and rainy… of course.

Already a large number of costumed workers were wandering about or standing in small groups and chatting. The Faire Queen and her retinue were sprawled among a group of picnic tables not far from the privies, she with her heavy brocade dress hiked up past her knees and waving a wide fan at her head and neck. One of the ladies-in-waiting, a lanky blonde in an unflattering pink dress, spotted him watching them and beckoned to him, but he grinned and shrugged while waving back, then turned away and headed back to the dressing tents.

And froze when he spotted Scully standing a few feet away, looking down as she tugged at the bottom of her bodice. Despite the two frozen lemonades slowly melting in his hands, he was unable to do anything other than stare wordlessly at his partner.

Scully's dress, like his outfit, was mostly black but with red and gold trim, featuring a bright red, leather over-bodice with matching gold and black brocade edging. It was just floor-length and snug to the hips, of a medium-heavy material with long, form-fitting sleeves that laced up the inside of her arm down past the elbow and fell just past her knuckles. The crimson bodice plunged deep between her breasts, clinging to and outlining them clearly, but no skin was visible due to the black dress beneath that covered her cleavage. Still, a goodly portion of her bare upper chest was visible, and he immediately thought that she needed a really kick-ass necklace to finish it off.

Around her hips was a wide black leather belt and, hanging from it, a decorated sheath with a long knife inserted in it similar to the one at his waist as well as a good-sized, rather lumpy pouch on the other side. Slung over her shoulder was a matching leather quiver and his eyes moved over the unstrung longbow she held in one hand, still fussing with the bottom of her bodice with the other, wondering if she knew how to use it.

But it was her hair that really caught his eye; shining like burnished copper in the sunlight, it had been drawn back from her face in a woven-cup-thingie that he didn't know the name of. A thin, golden crown-like tiara was inserted in the hair over her ears and fanned out in a sunburst over her upper forehead. It made her look regal… and dangerous.

"Dammit, this doesn't feel right… does it look okay, Mulder?" She twisted around and then sighed with frustration, letting the quiver drop down her arm and inserting the bow in a holder on its side before shouldering it again. "Something's twisted back there… can you get it?"

He cleared his throat and handed her one of the beginning-to-melt lemonades, then used his free hand to tug down the twisted material that was just to one side of where the bodice laced up the back. "Looks great, Scully. You look like some kind of girl knight or something," he said as he stepped back, wondering if he sounded as lame as he thought.

"Thanks, that's better. I'm supposed to be a lady huntress; it should be well in character with our job as peace-keepers," she said. "As usual I could really use a few inches to seem more intimidating, so I'll have to try and keep my shoes hidden since I'm wearing mine and not period ones."

Just then they were hailed by Matt Greene, the organizer who was working the front gate today. "There you are," he said, huffing and puffing up to them almost breathlessly. Though not grossly overweight, he was rather soft-looking with a bit of a gut, and in his getup of a King Henry VIII-type, heavy brocaded doublet and breeches he was probably warmer than they were. "Could both of you stand at the gate this morning and peace-bond the weapons with these?" he said as he handed over an open-weave cloth bag, which Mulder quickly discovered was full of white plastic cable ties. "Once the incoming crowd thins out, if you'll wander around and make sure no one takes the ties off, Agent Scully, that would be great. If they do, just bind them again and feel free to threaten at will."

"Should I stay at the gate all day, or can we switch off?" Mulder said, tying the bag to his belt after handing Scully half of the ties to put in her waist-pouch. They had been briefed last night on their festival duties, though he'd thought they'd be wandering the place together, not being posted separately even for a short time. With the rapes that their suspect had committed, he didn't want Scully wandering around and poking into dark corners alone, FBI training and gun or no FBI training and gun. The bastard had taken down a policewoman who'd been acting as bait despite four other undercover officers in the area. He always managed to somehow sneak up on his victims without being detected, hence the FBI being called in.

They always did their best as a team watching each other's backs, anyway.

"Since I know you need to be wandering the grounds, I've asked another worker to come in, but she can't make it until noon when she'll take over for you," he explained, mopping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief taken from inside the heavy doublet. "Just once I wish it would cool down in the autumn _before_ we close for the season, dammit! Anyway, if you need anything just let me know; I'll be here all day. If I'm not at the front gate, look for me in the tavern," he added as he walked away. "And don't forget; stay in character!"

***

They walked together to the front gate of Beckshire, the name of the fictional village where the WV Renaissance Festival was being held. It was a wide open field in a valley between two blunt mountains, ten acres of small, wooden buildings and tents housing a variety of medieval-themed businesses: food, drink, clothing, walking staffs, weapons, a harvest market, candles, and more. There were also several open-air theaters, a jousting arena with stands and colorful knights' dressing tents, stables, and in the very center, a wide, grassy common where people could lounge on blankets with a tankard of mead or a roasted turkey drumstick. Not just staff, but attendees as well dressed in medieval gear spanning a variety of cultures, from Spanish to Greek to Russian to the more common Anglo-Saxon/European. Jugglers, pirates, harlots, buskers, and even a professional insulter stood ready to welcome and amuse the crowd on this opening weekend, though the festival itself had started the day before. Already the wide grassy parking lot was well over half full, and there was a large crowd of people waiting to get in; they were mostly quiet and not rowdy, which was a relief to the two agents in charge of policing them.

Scully couldn't help chuckling as the Queen's Retinue strode up and took their places by the gates; the Festival Queen was a tall, statuesque, middle-aged woman in a stunning velvet and lace-trimmed fleur-de-lis dress, complete with Elizabethan collar and pearl-studded hairnet, but a pair of plain old tennis shoes peeked out from beneath the rich, voluminous skirts. Someone else would also be on their feet all day and had planned ahead; Scully decided not to worry about her shoes any more after seeing that.

Finishing her lemonade as they walked to the front gate, Scully tossed the empty cup in a trash can and tried to hold her skirts still as she caught up to Mulder and Matt Greene who were walking ahead. While the chemise, shift, and dress below the bodice were roomy, the layers of material kept tangling around her legs and she was afraid she'd trip and go sprawling before she got used to it. Mulder would never let her hear the end of it if she did, she was sure.

Once they were in position she nodded to Matt, who had the "guards" lift the bar across the front gates and open them. Pretty soon Scully was so busy trying to stop people who appeared to be intent on ignoring her that she barely noticed how hot and sweaty and dusty it was, and by the time the crowd thinned enough that both of them weren't needed, she was surprised to find that over an hour had passed.

She walked across to her partner, who was threading a cable tie through the filigreed handle of a very delicate yet dangerous-looking rapier and wrapping it around the scabbard. "Now there ye be, me bucko, and don't let me be seein' ye takin' that off now," he said in a rather muddled pirate-ish accent as the costumed customer moved off. "Duelers walk the plank," he called after him.

"Mulder, what kind of accent is that? Ye're dressed like an Italian noblemon, nay Long John Silver," Scully said, moving to his side and into his shade.

"It's the best I can do, Scully; it's been a long time since high school drama class," he said in his normal voice, looking down at her with some surprise. "I had no idea you were so talented. A true Irish brogue, eh?"

"It's my Aunt Olive's—she used tae come over from th' Emerald Isle every other year or so and stay for a month, so I heard it a lot growing up," she said, still in character. "We should have dressed ye as a pirate instead of a nobleman, is me guess."

He shrugged, watching a small, costumed group as they walked through the gates, but none were carrying weapons. "You heading off to go wandering?"

"Aye, I was thinkin' about it," she said. "Can I get ye anythin'?"

He was still looking down at her with brows raised. "Jesus, you do that so well I'd think it was your real accent," he said with clear admiration. "Another of those frozen lemonades would be great, thanks."

She moved away as he stopped another incoming group, this one with several daggers and long knives. After buying him a lemonade and herself a diet Coke—the sugar was too much this early—and delivering his drink, she strolled away to check out the rest of the festival, promising to return in an hour.

But before she was even out of sight of the front gate, she spotted a tall young man dressed as a French cavalier with a long, thin scabbard at his side that didn't have a cable tie on the sword handle sticking out of it. Though they made light of it, locking down all weapons at a large public gathering was a deadly serious job and required by law. Remembering how she'd planned to handle this type of situation, Scully tossed the rest of her drink in the trash, threw her shoulders back, and strode up to the cavalier and his group of friends, announcing: "Hold, Sir Knight! I am one of the peace-keepers at this foin Faire. Yer reputation precedes ye, and the queen bids me bond your weapon so we don't have a repeat of last year's unfortunate episode." She held up a cable tie, which she'd had in her reticule.

"I, uh, just bought this a few minutes ago," he stammered, pointing at a weapons seller several buildings over as his friends stared at him with mouths agape.

"Fie on the seller then; they know all weapons must be peace-bonded," she said as she approached with the tie, raising her eyebrows at him questioningly. The ersatz cavalier allowed her to wind it around the handle and then the scabbard, arms held out from his sides. As she walked away after thanking him for his cooperation, she chuckled to herself as she heard his friends questioning him excitedly about what had happened last year and his protests that he hadn't even been here. Keep it light and amusing if you can, Matt had advised, and most people won't give you a problem. Well, that had worked nicely and she'd remember it should she run into another unbound weapon.

They hadn't had time to see much more than the front gate, privies, and first few shops, among which were the clothiers' and changing tents for those who bought their raiment at the Faire. Most of the permanent wooden structures that ringed the large, open center area were shops for vendors such as artisans making chain mail, jewelry, leather goods, and while-you-wait portraits as well as for costumers, hairdressers, woodworkers, and glassblowers; there was even a foundry for the resident blacksmith. When she passed the smithy and saw a stocky brown horse standing patiently having its feet worked on, Scully remembered that there would be full-contact jousting later in the day and set off to find the stables. It had been many years since she'd had the chance to be around horses, but a girl never outgrew her very first love.

***

After Scully left, Mulder amused himself by heckling everyone who entered, whether or not he had to stop them to peace-bind a weapon. Staff at the festival were encouraged to interact with the visitors, to engage them and help get them into the spirit of the Faire. There was a professional insulter wandering around, stopping people at random with various Shakespearean insults such as "Thou unmuzzled half-faced skainsmate!" and "If you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt."

As a pair of rather punkish-looking teens entered, the Insulter, who was standing nearby chatting with one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, called after them; "If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry," a line which Mulder recalled from _Hamlet_, Act III, Scene 1.

_Hell, I can do that,_ he thought.

As a tall, thin woman who was accompanied by a shorter, heavyset, middle-aged man approached, both dressed in rather moth-eaten and ill-fitting Elizabethan costumes, Mulder called out, "Thou are like the toad, ugly and venomous!"

The man turned towards him and lowered thick, black beetle-brows over small, pig-like eyes. "What'd you call me, son?" he growled, lifting one loose sleeve to show what appeared to be a biker tattoo on his hard upper bicep. Flabby, perhaps, but not weak.

"That's a quote from the Shakespeare play _As You Like It_," he quickly explained in his normal voice, not wanting to start any trouble. "No true insult intended, m'lord."

"Hmph." The man turned away and they walked on, and Mulder decided that maybe insulting wasn't his strong suit. Perhaps he should stick with the pirate persona.

A short time later a trio of teenaged girls dressed in short-shorts and tank tops came tripping towards the gate, clutching their tickets and eyeing him, giggling and nudging each other. "Arrrr, me lovelies!" he cried in his best buccaneer's voice, combining Gene Kelly in _The Pirate_ with Dustin Hoffman's Captain Hook from _Hook_. Leering openly, running his eyes up and down their scantily clad bodies, he roared loudly enough for half the place to hear: "Ye're the finest pirate booty I've ever laid me eyes upon!"

This was much more successful; the giggling girls almost went apoplectic, scurrying past and about falling over each other as they disappeared into the crowd, most of whom were laughing along. Grinning, he watched them go, stuffing his thumbs in his belt and rocking back on the inch-high heels of his boots.

"You're a natural at this, you are," a woman's voice in a crisp English accent said from nearby.

He turned to see the pale blond wearing pink that had waved at him earlier while he had been waiting for Scully, and who had been talking to the Insulter just a short time ago. "Avast, me dazzlin' beauty!" he immediately exclaimed, though she certainly wasn't the prettiest thing he'd seen all day—and far, _far_ below the bar set by his stunning partner. But no need to tell her that. "Come to shiver me timbers?"

She giggled, dimpled, and curtsied rather clumsily. "The Lady Angelina, née Annie Platt of Beckley, at your service, kind sir," she introduced herself. Putting one hand out, she fluttered pale eyelashes up at him.

_Don't quit your day job, _he thought_. _Taking her hand, he pressed a brief kiss to the back of it and bowed in return with one arm across his midriff and the other flared out behind him as he'd seen done in the movies. "The dastardly pirate Black Fox Mulder of Alexandria, Virginia, at yer service," he replied. They had decided to use their real names although staying undercover; it was unlikely that anyone would discover that they were agents in the few days they would be here. If the suspect didn't strike by the time the festival closed tomorrow evening, they'd move on to a different Faire, probably the one in Maryland that opened the following weekend. "Well, blow me down, a foin lady like yerself deignin' to talk to an old salty dog like meself."

She pulled a tiny lacy fan out of the pouch dangling from her wrist and fanned herself with it, unabashedly eyeing him over the top. "If I'm not being too forward, may I request your escort at the midday meal?" she said coquettishly. "Staff eats in shifts and I'm up next."

Was it lunchtime already? He circumspectly tugged aside the colorful sleeve of his blouse to see his watch: quarter after twelve. Where was his replacement and, most importantly of all, where was _Scully?_ She should have been back long before this. Full-blown paranoia grabbed him by the balls and, totally ignoring a troupe of weapon-laden men heading towards the gate, he blurted, "Sorry, I'm here with my, ah, girlfriend, and I'm meeting her—gotta run!"

Hurrying at a near-gallop though the crowds, he scanned the sea of faces for the one with the patrician nose and clear blue eyes beneath the bright red hair and gold tiara, or any glimpse of her black and red dress. Panic was beginning to rise in his throat when he finally spotted her slender form by the stables, standing with her back to him and talking to a young man. He slowed, feeling his heart nearing its normal pace, and was scowling when he reached them. "Arrrr—here be me wench! For-r-r-get all about me?" he said as he stalked up behind them then added, _ "Honey?"_ while glaring meaningfully at the stableboy.

The young man, shirtless and wearing loose breeches with knee-high boots and holding a tall pitchfork, jumped a foot and gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing tellingly. He stared up at Mulder with a rather bewildered look on his face. Though compactly muscular and tan with broad shoulders, he was a good three-four inches shorter and easily ten to fifteen years younger than the looming male agent. "I, uh, hafta—uh, nice talking—later!" he babbled, backing away and disappearing into the depths of the building.

She turned and gave him the eyebrow, arms akimbo. "Mulder, that wasn't very nice. What time is it? I'm not wearing my watch."

"Almost twelve-thirty," he exaggerated. "Got a little worried—you know this suspect caught that female detective unawares, and she was a trained officer with backup standing by. One minute she was checking out the parking lot, the next she was waking up half-naked on the ground."

"I was never alone," Scully informed him, raising a brow again and regarding him frostily, then waved her hand at the eddying, thronging crowd around them. "I wouldn't play bait without my partner watching my back."

He heaved in a breath through his nostrils then instantly regretted it; they were standing less than two feet from the stable. Putting his hand in its usual place at the small of her back, he led her away. "So, what did you find out? _If_ anything other than Mr. Ed's phone number back there?"

"I was discussing horses with _Randy_," she stressed the name, glancing up at him, "and I wasn't _trying_ to find out anything, although I did spot a couple of possible remote places where a rapist might try to take a victim."

"I didn't know you were into horses, Scully," he said, sniffing the air—safely this time as they were some distance from the stables. Now that he could smell something other than horse shit, he noted that someone was cooking something good nearby, and he steered her in the direction of the enticing scent. His stomach rumbled and, now that his fright had passed, food was uppermost in importance.

"When we moved to Maryland I made friends with a girl whose parents owned a boarding stable," she said, letting herself be steered. "I liked horses as much as the next teenage girl, and we went riding every chance we got. I was just wondering what type of horses they use for the jousting because it's not the big draft horses you see on TV and in movies."

"So what are they?" he asked, nudging her into line at one of the food concessions, hoping she hadn't seen the menu yet since there didn't seem to be anything even vaguely healthy on it. But there were enough taller people around them that she must not have, because she didn't object. From his vantage point he could also see that this whole concession area was under an open-sided wooden roof, so it was much cooler than being out in the sun which he was sure she didn't mind.

"Quarter Horses. Randy was telling me that, though they're not big, they're very strong and can turn on a dime better than the large horses can," she said. "He also told me that most Renaissance Festivals do use draft horses, but it's more realistic to have these despite what popular culture shows. Apparently the true knights' horses of old were more like bigger riding horses than the draft horses we imagine them to have been."

"Hmph. Looks like you learned a lot from that strapping young lad," he said close to her ear. "Sure you didn't slip off for a roll in the—oof!"

"Insinuate anything like that again, Mulder, and I'll use my bow next time," she said in a low, pleasant voice, drawing her elbow back from where it had connected with his midsection. They reached the counter and, without missing a beat, she said, "I'll have the grilled chicken sandwich on whole wheat without mayo, and a diet Coke—and _he's_ paying," she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at him as she stepped away from the counter.

Still rubbing his breadbasket, Mulder ordered two Scotch eggs, a fried turkey drumstick, and two 'trollhouse' cookies along with a pint of Guinness and paid for it all without comment. Ignoring her eyebrow as they moved over to the pickup window, he said, "I want to see you eat one of the fried turkey legs before we go, Scully. That would make my week."

"Not likely. I don't eat fried foods, and those things in particular look terribly greasy," she said, watching a barrel-chested bard in a colorful, flowing outfit and with a mandolin slung across his back accept one of the legs, which was wrapped in oil-spotted paper, and walk away gnawing at it.

"Live a little, Scully," he admonished, leaning one shoulder against the wall next to the pickup window and folding his arms across his broad chest. "Life's too short to live on yogurt and salads."

She shook her head, the tiara not moving at all. "It'll be shorter if I end up having a coronary from blocked arteries," she said bluntly, helping him gather up their food and drink as it arrived at the window and was pushed through to them. By the time they were settled at one of the trestle tables with condiments, napkins, and their food sorted out, she seemed to be less irritated with him, which was a relief because that wasn't exactly the emotion he'd been hoping for from her.


	2. Chapter 2

The bare-chested stableboy had been awfully cute, Scully thought as she unwrapped her chicken sandwich, until Mulder walked up and showed her the difference between a boy and a man. Her partner was living, breathing masculinity personified, and for the first time Scully realized that she was, and had been for years, measuring every other attractive male she saw against him. No matter how handsome or muscular or charming, none of them came close to him in the end. So why was she even trying?!

She looked over at him as he tore into the turkey leg, his eyes on a quartet of musicians playing on an open stage nearby. He'd taken his hat off and she studied his profile, thinking that while he wasn't, perhaps, classically handsome, he was probably the best-looking man she'd ever personally known. Though she had recently sidetracked their journey towards intimacy, it didn't mean they couldn't get it back on track, she realized. She'd already decided some time ago that she wanted him as more than a friend; what _was_ she waiting for?

Lost in thought she ate mechanically, sipping at her Coke and barely aware of the object of her musings across from her until he slid a wax-paper-wrapped cookie in front of her and jolted her out of her thoughts. "For you," he said softly, lifting his own to his mouth with his other hand, "because you can't _not_ have some good things in life."

She met his serious eyes and felt a jolt rip through her body deeply enough to make her shiver; normally she would have looked away and let the moment pass, but this time she didn't and met his unremitting gaze steadily. Licking her lips nervously, she took the cookie from beneath his hand, just letting her fingers brush his, and then smiled a little. "Thanks, Mulder," she said, finally tearing her eyes away from his mesmerizing hazel ones. Was she showing her heart on her sleeve like he was? she thought with a moment of panic, then calmed herself with an effort. Even if she was, who cared other than them? Everyone around them probably assumed they were a couple, which they were undercover as, so where was the problem? "I'll have it later," she murmured, putting the wrapped cookie in her reticule at her waist. She knew she couldn't eat it now; it would stick in her dry throat and choke her.

_I can change what's between us right now, _she realized. Lifting her eyes to his again, she was caught in his intense gaze like a mesmerized mouse in front of a hypnotic snake, and this time she couldn't look away. Her heart was pounding and she felt her lips parting involuntarily, for the first time really welcoming his attentions and wishing they were somewhere more private rather than in the middle of a rather rowdy, noisy, crowded food pavilion at a very public RenFaire. _Why _now_, all of a sudden? _she wondered in the back of her mind, but barely had time to dwell on it before Mulder was abruptly rising, scooping up his hat, stuffing it on his head, gathering up their trash and then taking her by the hand. One moment they had been kidding and joking around, the next she felt like he was making love to her with his eyes. What was going on here, exactly?

Scully felt as if she was in a daze as she followed him without argument while he dumped their garbage in a can and all but dragged her towards the back of the "village." "Where can we go to be alone?" he growled, slowing and turning to look down at her with smoldering eyes, darkly shadowed and narrowed to intense triangles beneath the wide brim of the rakish black hat. "We need to talk about this, _now_."

She knew exactly what he meant; their telepathy, thankfully, did seem to be working well today. "Ah, over there, behind the building being worked on," she said, pointing as they walked. She didn't argue as he pulled her behind the scaffolded, empty structure, which was separated from the others with two large construction dumpsters on either side. The crowd was very thin in this location, less than a dozen or so people passing through on the way to a more populated area. Almost before she knew it, without coherent thought on her part, she was in his arms with his face descending towards hers.

"Fuck talking," he murmured, closing his eyes as his lips touched hers; she left hers cracked open, wanting to see his face as they shared their first real kiss, more than the friendly one from last New Year's Eve. His lips were soft, smooth, warm, non-demanding; tasting and testing her, she realized. Seeing how she'd react.

A surge of deep affection for this incredible man flowed through her, and she deepened the kiss, opening her mouth and touching his lips with her tongue, her eyes falling shut despite herself as she tightened her arms around his waist. He groaned deep in his throat, causing another jolt in her belly, as he met her tongue with his soft, warm one. She let out a muffled exclamation as her back hit something solid and he pressed his hard body against hers, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her head and protect it from whatever the hard surface was, most likely the back of the building.

_I've got to see him kissing me, _she thought hazily, and cracked her eyes open again to see his long lashes fanned out on his upper cheek. Then she saw something move in her peripheral vision and both eyes popped open to see that it was a human figure creeping up behind him holding some type of wide, vaguely gun-shaped weapon in its hand—pointed right at them.

Without thinking she reacted automatically, shoving Mulder to the side, and then a horrible shock rippled through her and the next thing she knew, she was lying curled on her side with pain shuddering through every nerve ending. "Scully—Scully, are you all right?" Mulder's voice, close and alarmed, yelled.

She opened her eyes, groaning, to see his concerned face bending over hers. "What the…?"

"He shot you with a Taser but I took him down and got the leads off you almost right away, don't worry," he said, carefully helping her sit up with her back against the wooden wall. Lifting one hand to show his cell phone in it, he added, "I've already called for backup, should I have an ambulance come too?"

"No, I'll be fine—just give me a minute," she said as the shuddery ache receded, gingerly rubbing her lower sternum which was still tingling. It was almost the exact same place she'd popped Mulder with her elbow earlier—was that some kind of cosmic justice or what? she mused.

"I think your vest helped deflect the Taser and you didn't get _too_ bad of a jolt," Mulder said, crouched next to her and tracing the outline of where the two spikes had entered the leather just below the V of the bodice's neckline, just below and between her breasts. Then he turned and looked over his shoulder, and Scully followed his gaze to see the suspect, cuffed both hand and feet, curled in the dirt a short distance away. He appeared to be unconscious, one side of his face darkening into a purple bruise, and there was a smear of blood at the corner of his mouth; for once it looked like Mulder had gotten the upper hand. She was relieved to note that he matched the description given by the four previous rape victims right down to the mysterious disabling weapon that no one had been able to figure out. Mulder turned back to her, tracing the side of her face with a gentle finger. "I just wish you hadn't gotten hurt in order to catch him."

"Could have been worse," she pointed out. "I'd rather be Tasered than shot or raped. Once all the effects of the shock have worn off I'll be all right."

"You have a point there. I'd better go watch for the police," Mulder said regretfully. "Can you get up, or do you want to stay here?"

"I'll stay here and keep an eye on him," she said. "I still feel a little unsteady, but I'll be fine."

"That better be a _real_ fine, not an 'I'm pretending to be fine' fine," he said, smiling at her. She raised a brow at him and his smile turned into a grin.

Standing up, he leaned over and picked up his jaunty hat which was in the dust nearby, and she finally got to see his ass in the tights—the wait had been worth it, she thought. But then something occurred to her and she said, "Mulder, dragging me off back here and that kiss had better not have been part of the assignment."

He turned back to her, his eyes intent and serious. "It wasn't. I just knew that this was the time and place when you looked at me that way—like you had finally seen me as a man and not just your partner," he said, brushing off his hat and straightening out the crooked feathers before plunking it on his head again. He leaned over and kissed her gently, then stood and looked down at her with uncertainty written on his expressive face. "We _are_ going to pick up our, ah, discussion where we left off after all this is over, right?"

"You can count on it, Mulder," she stated, smiling close-mouthed up at him. "Just _try_ to get out of it."

His grin rivaled the sun shining overhead.

***

They walked out of the Beckley police station four hours later, tired but satisfied. Their prisoner had, indeed, been the roving Renaissance Festival serial rapist whom they'd been brought in to catch. Skinner had even called Mulder's cell and congratulated them when he'd heard, and let them know that they didn't have to report back to work until Tuesday if they wanted to take an extra day. Little did he know what a gift he was giving them, Mulder thought, if Scully's earlier smile and response to his kiss promised what he hoped it did. He'd been waiting years for this chance and was not going to miss it no matter where they were.

Heading for their rental car, which was parked in the cops' lot, Scully said casually, "So, are we going back to the motel or what?"

"Actually, Scully, I'd like to go back to the festival if you don't mind," he said, getting in the driver's side and unlocking the passenger door for her. "Trust me, I have good reason."

She raised a brow at him, brushing a fiery lock out of her face, and then buckled herself in. Her hair had finally come down out of the bun, and the material thing that had covered it and the golden tiara were presently in the back seat with his hat, as well as her bow and quiver. Otherwise they were still wearing the rest of the costumes, which had amused everyone in the station to no end. "If we're going back there so you can have another fried turkey leg, I may have to hurt you," she said dryly.

He laughed and reached over to take her hand, feeling the pressure as she held it in return, their linked hands resting on the console between them as they drove. "In that case you'd have good reason to hurt me," he agreed. "No, there's just something I want to do before we're done with the festival."

"Well, we do need to turn in these costumes and retrieve our clothes," she said thoughtfully.

"We're keeping them—my present to us, as souvenirs of one of the best days of my entire life so far," he said, glancing over at her. "Unless you don't want to keep yours."

"I do, and I was thinking about it anyway, but you don't have to pay for mine," she said as he turned into the festival's parking lot, which was beginning to empty out as the Faire closed in less than two hours.

"Uh-uh. My treat. And there's something else I want to get you, no arguments," he said firmly, driving over the bumpy grass to the employee parking area off to one side. "Although if I get a turkey leg to go I won't get hit again, will I?"

She laughed as they got out and headed for the gate, waving at Matt in the ticket booth as they went by. The peace-keeper stationed at Mulder's old spot stopped them, but waved them along when Scully pulled her staff badge out of her waist-pouch. Once inside he led her to the clothiers and paid for their costumes, making sure that she didn't see the astronomical amount that pushed his Visa to the limit, and they walked out with their street clothes in paper bags.

He took her hand casually as they strolled along through the reduced crowds, but didn't say a word as he slowed and looked over every jewelry stall. He was beginning to think he wouldn't find it when he spotted _the_ perfect necklace: a rainbow-hued, faceted crystal about the size of his thumbnail suspended from a finely braided, black-and-red leather thong. It looked like it had been made to match her dress. Once he was sure Scully didn't dislike it despite her demurrals that he shouldn't buy it for her, he did and she stood waiting patiently while he put it on her.

"That's the ticket—perfect," he said as she turned away from the mirror towards him, smiling. "The outfit just needed that final touch, is all."

"When are we ever going to wear this stuff again, Mulder?" she said as they left the shop. "All this money spent for what?"

He shrugged, taking her hand again. "There are more RenFaires we can attend this year. And maybe we'll find a costume ball to go to at Halloween."

She laughed, shaking her head. "You never fail to amaze me, Mulder. Every time I think I know you, you display a new side."

"And you always, _always_ keep me guessing," he grinned down at her, squeezing her fingers gently. "So, you up to continuing our discussion from earlier?"

One auburn brow lifted, blue eyes sparkling up into his. "And just where would we do that?"

He considered giving her a leer or eyebrow wiggle, but didn't want to spoil the mood with something he might do just kidding around when he really wasn't. Instead he led her to the far end of the "village," passing the construction site where they'd had their first real kiss and captured the suspect, to the jousting area. This late in the day it was long-abandoned, and he took a quick look around before leading her into the furthest-away of the fairly roomy knights' changing tents, letting the flap fall behind them.

Dropping the bags, he turned to her and brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles lightly and looking down at her upturned face over their linked hands as he spoke against her skin, feeling her shiver when he did so. "Think this is enough privacy to continue our, uh, discussion for now?"

She looked around, shook her head, and smiled brilliantly up at him, reaching up to cup the side of his face. "For the time being, but I think we might want something more substantial around us very soon, Mulder."

_Oh, God. _ His belly jolted, crotch stirring to life as her words sunk in and, once again, almost without knowing how it happened, they were in each other's arms. Though he hadn't planned to do anything more than a bit of making out and, maybe if she was amenable to it, a well-timed grope or two, Scully took it to a whole new level in a very short time.

He had no idea why she appeared to be fascinated with his ass, but he also wasn't about to question it.

***

To finally be in Mulder's arms after so many years of yearning and desire drove Scully right past her usual reservations, especially those about making love in a 6x8 tent where anyone could walk by and hear them or, God forbid, lift the flap and expose them to the entire Faire. But, she reasoned through the fierce haze of desire, there were few left at the festival this late and it was unlikely anyone would think to look in the tents since the jousting had ended hours ago. Plus they were in the farthest, most remote tent behind the judging stands, and who said they had to get _totally_ undressed, anyway?

_Enough rationalizing,_ her mind spoke up sternly. _ On to getting laid at long fucking last!_

They were all over each other like a pair of randy teenagers the moment she let him know that she was open to more physical expression, which she did by reaching down and grabbing his ass and grinding herself against him while her tongue boldly invaded his mouth. When she made up her mind to do something, Scully never wavered in her determination until she accomplished—or, in this situation, got—what she wanted.

Mulder's reaction was all she could have wished for; his tongue met and matched hers, dueling between their lips, his hands roved up and down her body to finally land in her hair, cupping the back of her head and holding it as he kissed her breathless. She clearly felt the large, hard lump of his erection against her lower belly through their layers of clothing and rubbed herself against it, loving the groan that he let go into her mouth. Finally she tore hers away and gasped, "_Now_, Mulder—I want you and I'm not in the mood to wait."

"Holy shit, Scully, you don't waste any time!" his voice was low but strong, his eyes, smoke-dark in the dim light, gleaming with passion, boring down into hers. For a split second she was afraid he was put off by her boldness, and then he grinned, beaming with admiration, sinking to his knees, drawing her down with him so that she straddled his hips, hands on his shoulders. "So, uh, whatcha wearing under that?"

"The same thing you are under your tights," she smiled back, feeling his shudder at her words. Though she hadn't been commando all day, the shock of the Taser had caused her bladder to release a little, which was not unusual, so she had tossed her panties and cleaned up at the police station. She let her smile fade; as their lips met, the wild passion took her over again and when she felt his hands working his way beneath her skirts she sucked in her breath with anticipation. A few moments later he found his target and she moaned into his mouth, reminding herself not to let any sound escape—easier said than done when one big, warm hand was cupped around her ass and the other gently but thoroughly exploring the soft dampness between her legs.

"Sweet Jesus," he breathed, breaking the kiss so that they both gasped for breath.

"You're surprised that I want you, Mulder? Hell, I've wanted you for _years,_ and how I need you now." Leaning back a little, she reached beneath the bottom of the doublet and managed to work her hand inside the elastic band of the tights, but was unable to push the material aside. "Dammit, I can't get you out of there!"

"Stand up for a minute," he rasped, moving his hands from beneath her skirts as she moved away. With no further ado he lifted up slightly and slid the tights down to his knees.

She stared; it had been years since she'd seen a live, aroused man, and the sight filled her with pure lust. Everything below her waist, as well as her breasts, was on fire, stimulated to a level of arousal she'd never attained before. "Oh my God, Mulder, I want you so badly," she repeated huskily, finding his hands already pushing her skirts up out of the way as she took hold of his shoulders again. He moved his hands underneath her bottom, helping to support and move her. Her feet, still incased in three-inch heels, rested on her toes on the ground, her knees bent and gripping his hips on either side.

It had been so long, but she found out that this was something that was never totally forgotten.

Some time later they slowly relaxed together, Mulder moving his hands from beneath her skirts to wrap his arms around her waist and hold her close. She could feel his heart pounding against hers, and when she felt her neck could hold the weight of her head again she lifted it, swiping her lips across his lightly-stubbled cheek and murmuring, "That was even better than I'd dreamed, Mulder."

"For me too." He shuddered, exhaled, and then turned his head to meet her mouth with his. They shared a long, sweet, loving kiss without the frenzied energy and manic desperation of the previous ones, gently licking and sucking at each other's lips and tongues. "Bet your legs are getting tired," he finally murmured, then captured her mouth again briefly before adding against her lips, "Want to move this party to a more comfortable—and secure—place?"

She chuckled as he helped her stand then got up beside her, staggering slightly; if his legs were half as rubbery as hers, she thought, it was a miracle that either of them could stay on their feet. "Thought you'd never ask," she said, starting to reach for the bags containing their street clothes when he stopped her, gathering her back into his arms and holding her loosely around the shoulders.

"Scully…" his serious hazel eyes stared down into hers as his voice trailed off, the final 'e' of her name fading away. She tilted her head, raising her brows slightly, for the moment unable to tell if what was coming was good or bad. "I, uh, am not quite sure how to say this after your reply the last time, but—"

"I love you too," she said, smiling up at him, reaching up to pull his face down to hers. She kissed his forehead in their special caress, then moved down to his mouth and let everything she felt for him into it.

Some time later when they came up for air, he grinned down at her. "That certainly wasn't the same response I got last time, and I haven't even said it yet."

"You'd better!"

His grin softened into an affectionate smile. "If you don't know how much I love you by now, I'm not sure what else I can do to reassure you. Want me to joust a knight for your affections?"

She rolled her eyes at him, smiling in return; some things never changed. Just then they heard someone calling for the last round, adding that the Faire was closing in fifteen minutes. "C'mon, you; let's get out of here before they come looking for us," she said, opening the bag that held her clothes, digging around a bit, remembering, and then pausing. "Oh, damn, Mulder, my underwear aren't in here." She figured that a little white lie was preferable to the truth which, while understandable, wasn't something she really wanted to share with her best friend even if he now was—or especially _since_ he now was—her brand-new lover. "They must have fallen out when I was putting everything in the bag, and I need to wear _something_ until we get back to the motel." _Or I'll be leaving a trail behind myself all the way back,_ she thought, but judged it best not to mention that, either.

"Well, uh, you can wear mine—they're mostly clean," he said. "I only had them on about an hour before we got here."

A short time later they strolled hand-in-hand through the mostly-deserted Faire, some vendors closing the doors and shutters of their stores, others unrolling and securing tent flaps. Scully was doing her damndest not to giggle to herself like a teenager, feeling the short legs of Mulder's blue plaid boxers brush against her upper thighs and thinking how incongruous they would look against the seriousness of her costume if anyone could see them. As they passed the food court where they'd had lunch, a young man in a half-apron and chef's hat hailed them from the pickup window. "We've got some turkey legs left over, want to take a few home? No charge," he said, gesturing to a pile of the large poultry drumsticks wrapped in foil and stacked on the ledge.

Mulder grinned down at Scully, handing her the bags, and she thought he looked no more than ten years old in that moment. "Thanks, we'll take one," he said, grabbing a drumstick and saluting the worker with it as several more people moved up to the window to take advantage of the free offer. He let go of Scully's hand and partially unwrapped it, still grinning as he exposed the top of the meaty joint. "Scully, you _will_ at least try a taste of this, won't you?"

She looked up at his bright, hopeful eyes and teasing smile and could refuse him nothing. When she did take a bite she made sure it was a big one, using one hand to push bits of the turkey—surprisingly tasty and not the least bit greasy—into her mouth. "Hey, that's not bad," she said when she'd finished the mouthful as they continued walking. "Let me have another bite."

He hugged her to him with one arm, laughing. "You never fail to keep me guessing."

They walked out of the Faire with his arm around her shoulders, sharing the turkey leg, Scully swinging the bags with their clothes in one hand and thinking that, of all the cases they'd been on, this one had the most satisfying ending…in more ways than one.

**EPILOGUE – **three months later

"Mulder, does this look right?"

Déjà vu, he thought as he peered around the wall of his bedroom into the living room. "Looks great, Scully," he said, giving his poufy, multicolored sleeves a yank so they hung correctly—and covered his watch—as he walked into the other room. "We about ready?"

She stood arrayed in the snug red and black huntress outfit, although per his request she'd left her hair down rather than put it back in the bun, the golden filigreed sunburst tiara covering her forehead. The sense of déjà vu was even stronger as she was twisting around in front of the mirrored closet doors trying to see her back. "Is something screwed up back there?"

He went over and straightened the rucked-up piece of material, then ran his hand across her ass to make sure she was wearing his boxers beneath. "That better be what I think it is," he said, adding a light slap before moving away from expected retribution.

Eyes narrowed, Scully pursed her mouth and put hands on hips. "And if it's not?"

"If it's not, then I go put something on under these tights because it's still damn uncomfortable," he said, turning his back to her and lifting the tails of the Italian doublet.

"I said it before and I'll say it again: Mulder, you look damn good in tights," Scully laughed from behind him. He turned to see her grinning, picking up the woven black pouch and tying it to her wide leather belt. "I'll _show_ you just how much when we get home from the party—if I do it now we'll never go."

He went over and straightened the sparkling crystal necklace that hung just below the base of her throat, letting the backs of his fingers rest gently against the bare upper swell of her breasts; she'd had the dress beneath the bodice altered to show cleavage, although the leather bodice still carried the marks of the Taser. She called them her battle scars and refused to have them fixed, saying that damage gave authenticity to the costume. "I'll keep you to that promise," he said, leaning down and brushing a light kiss over her full, deep red lips, barely enough to muss her lipstick.

"You know, Mulder, there are going to be a lot of people shocked that we're actually going to an FBI event, although I'm sure no one will be surprised that we chose the Halloween costume party," she said as he inserted a plastic Bowie knife, which matched hers, into the sheath at his side. He'd wanted to try a sword again but she'd vehemently argued against it, and then they'd found out that no real edged weapons were allowed at the hall anyway. "Still, I bet the rumor mill will be in full force Monday morning. We might even get a visitor or two in the basement, what do you think?"

He moved behind her, turning her shoulders so they both faced the full-length mirror. "I think we are going to win the contest, that's what I think," he said, leaning over to pick up his jaunty black hat from the coffee table and setting it at a rakish angle on his dark hair. "And that the first time we wore these costumes was one of the best days of my life."

"Mine too." She smiled up into his eyes in the mirror and, perfectly in step with him, left the apartment.

_finis_


End file.
